Drinking Life (Keeper of the Water Book 1) (2 page)

Needless to say, they don’t run as fast as they had at the start of their attack. My natural instinct is to chase them into the woods but I figure I shouldn’t push my luck. Within seconds they disappear from view. The
clanging
of their suits quickly fades, replaced by the distant approach of ambulance and police sirens. A pair of wounded 16th century soldiers
should
be easy to find but I have a feeling the cops will never make an arrest on this attack.

I spin back around but the old man is nowhere to be seen. I look toward the parking lot for any sign of him but all I see is a jumble of gridlocked cars, all trying to drive away at once. My coach stirs on the ground, struggling to get up, but I feel the need to check on someone else first. I rush over to Cassie, who quivers on the bench, having not budged an inch during the whole ordeal.

“Don’t worry, everything is okay now. You’re safe,” I tell her, failing to sound as comforting as I’d meant.

But I don’t think my presence—or the sight of my blood-splattered uniform—makes her feel any better.

“When is the game going to restart?” I ask Coach before peering up into the sky. “It’s getting late. Unless we can use the football field for its lights, it’ll be too dark soon.”

I’m anxious to get the game going but none of the other girls—at least those still here—seem as concerned. But if anyone can appreciate finishing the game and officially getting the win, it’s Coach.

“I think you should give your coach some space,” says the EMT working on him. “There’re more important things to worry about right now.”

“But there were less than ten minutes left in the game, Coach. We should get it over with,” I say.

But Coach shakes his head, grimacing in pain. He’s the only one getting help on the field since everyone else has made their way to the parking lot. The EMT works on his nose, which is now shaped like a parenthesis. Ambulances were quick to arrive on the scene though only one person was actually injured in the attack. At least one person who didn’t limp off into the forest.

Nearly a dozen police cars arrived soon after but had trouble getting to the field because of all the traffic trying to leave school grounds. The police blocked the exit and redirected all the cars back to the lot, where order was restored. The cops slowly made their way through the crowd, taking names and statements of the incredible story. The few local reporters tried to do their own interviews but were herded away by the cops. That still didn’t stop several more news vans from arriving on the scene, shoving their cameras in front of anyone willing to talk.

“The other team is leaving anyway,” Coach says.

Our opponents finally climb aboard one of two busses surrounded by police. No matter what I say at this point, this game isn’t being finished today. Even my own teammates are being allowed to leave with their parents. I sigh as I walk away, sulking like Cassie when she doesn’t get her way.

When I get closer to the parking lot, I look for any sign of the old man. But apparently he’s as long gone as the two attackers. Instead I have a closer view of the after-effects from the crowd’s panic. Plenty of people are still freaked out by the attack, plenty of girls from my team—some who I thought were as tough as me—cry in fear about what just happened. So many parents are hugging their kids that I feel like I’m back in pre-school instead of high school. I understand that the attack was unexpected but it’s an afterthought for me now. I don’t see the big deal for everyone else since I was the one who did all the fighting.

The police and several reporters mill around asking questions about what happened. Everyone points at me. I suddenly wish I’d gone after the soldiers to avoid attention. A camera is thrust into my face but one of the cops escorts the reporter away while his partner takes out a pen and notepad.

“Several witnesses said you confronted the assailants,” the officer says. “That wasn’t very smart, young lady. They could’ve seriously hurt you the way they did your coach.”

“Do I look hurt to you?” I ask. “Believe me, the blood on my clothes isn’t mine.”

“Then you were lucky,” he adds snidely. “Now tell me what happened; no detail is too minor if we hope to catch these guys.”

I don’t bother to explain my feeling about the soldiers being long gone. I also don’t feel like explaining how I cheated death several times during the fight. I’m already annoyed that the cop chastised me for fighting back against the soldiers. I don’t understand my sudden indifference toward fighting and violence so I highly doubt the police will understand. Maybe once my adrenaline dies down I’ll be as upset as everyone thinks I should be.

“I don’t remember much, it all happened so fast,” I say. The first part is a lie—I could probably walk them through the attack moment by moment if I wanted to waste my breath—but the second part is true enough.

“People said they had swords and axes but you fought them with hockey sticks instead of escaping. Do you think they were coming after you specifically? Is that why you didn’t run?”

“I don’t know why I stayed to fight, just instinct I guess. Plus I was pissed that they interrupted our game,” I say, finally telling the truth.

“Then you have no idea who the target was?”

I shake my head and glance over at Cassie, who stands on the edge of the field talking to a reporter. Her eyes still look glazed in shock but she becomes more animated when she talks. I suddenly feel angrier at the reporter than I’d been at the soldiers. I can’t believe the press would take advantage of a scared kid just to get a few quotes. I tell the officer I need to check on Cassie to make sure she’s okay.

“Is she your sister?”

Before I know it, I’m nodding my head. I don’t know if I can get in trouble for lying to the police but I would’ve said anything to get away from him. He hands me his card and tells me to contact him if I remember anything else.
That’s
not going to happen. The officer escorts me toward Cassie, who’s gotten over the shock enough to transform into her normally dramatic self.

“And they were
huge
and coming right toward me. I was never so scared in my life,” Cassie says breathlessly. The reporter hurries to scribble every word she says.

Though we’ve lived in many different parts of the country—the Pacific Northwest, areas of the Midwest, near the Grand Canyon—none of our stops has ever included the Deep South. But as Cassie blabbers on and on about what happened—somehow placing herself in the midst of the worst danger despite being fifty feet away from the action at all times—she sounds like a Southern Belle, a damsel in distress.

God
she annoys me sometimes!

The officer shoos away the reporter before heading onto the hockey field, where a dozen cops take pictures and collect broken, bloody bits of shattered hockey sticks. It seems like a waste of time to me; they won’t find anything on them but my fingerprints. A second team of police head into the woods with police dogs.

Can you tell my town isn’t the most exciting place? Though the attack could’ve been a lot worse, nobody was seriously hurt. But the police see a couple of crying teenagers and suddenly treat this like the crime of the century.

“Oh, Nia, I can’t believe that just happened. I was so frightened that I couldn’t even move,” Cassie says.

“I noticed.”

Without warning, she throws her arms around me. I’m glad hat I protected both of us but consolation isn’t exactly my strong suit. I want to tell her to chill out but I remain quiet and let her hold onto me. It’s not often I see Cassie so vulnerable. I’m sure she wouldn’t be hugging me if any of her friends were around. Either way, I’m glad to see a familiar face crossing the parking lot and heading in our direction, though I’m confused how he could be here.

“Dad?!” I call out and wave to him.

His worried expression eases when he spots us. Knowing how concerned my father must’ve been makes me smile but not because I wanted him to suffer. It’s sweet knowing how much he cares about me. His presence calms the fire that built inside of me. Apparently I’m not the only one happy to see him.

“Mr. Ammo!” Cassie calls out and lets go of me. Not only is the sound of fear still in her voice but tears begin to stream down her face. Somebody give this girl an Academy Award!

Before my father reaches us, Cassie rushes in front of me and throws her arms around him. She cries even harder, her body shaking like a little lost doe. I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“Oh, Mr. Ammo, it was just
awful
!” she cries.

“What happened?” my father asks.

“I don’t even want to… I… I can’t,” she whimpers.

As Cassie continues to sob into his chest, Dad looks at me and raises an eyebrow; he’s trying not to laugh at her, too.

“Don’t worry, Cassie, your mother will be here soon,” he says. “She was in the car right behind me.”

This is Dad’s way of trying to prod Cassie away but she still clings to him like a baby monkey to its mother. Neither of us knows how to deal with Cassie’s traumatized mental state but my father looks uncomfortable with her holding on so tight. Anyone who didn’t know him might think he was actually Cassie’s father, not mine. Cassie grew up without a father of her own. Cassie’s mother was a strong presence in her life but I can’t imagine what it would be like without a father. I guess my dad has done what he can to be there for Cassie when needed, though she’s clearly not into the same things that we are.

Dad’s a few inches shorter than me and is fair-skinned and light-eyed, not dark and tall like me. His bushy handlebar mustache not only takes up half of his face but also gives him a comical appearance. But don’t let him fool you—you could plop him in the middle of the woods with no supplies and he would have no trouble surviving. It’s a skill he’s instilled in me over the years though he always claimed I was a natural.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dad asks me.

“I… I think I will be one day,” Cassie answers.

“And
Zannia?
” he asks, suppressing a smile. He suddenly turns serious, which I’m not used to from him. You could definitely classify me as a tomboy and he’s always treated me like one. His sincere concern makes me feel uncomfortable. “Are
you
okay, sweetheart?”

I nod, knowing that if I speak at this moment my voice may crack worse than Cassie’s. I quickly get my emotions under control and change the subject.

“How did you get here so soon? I thought you and Celeste had a huge tour this weekend,” I say.

Dad frowns. I know business has been rough recently and this job was supposed to help with that. I didn’t get too upset when I found out he’d have to miss the game because of the tour. If he cancelled the trip because of the stupid attack, I might just have to join the police in searching for the soldiers.

“It’s the strangest thing,” my father explains. “We had the tour ready to go—the old man even paid in advance—but he never showed up.”

“The
old
man?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, Celeste and I had everything ready for someone his age—he was too old to participate in normal activities. We waited for him and his party for hours but nothing,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

I can’t help but think of the old man from earlier. I glance around the crowd for any sight of him. I try to convince myself I’m just being paranoid—that my father’s client
wasn’t
the same old man watching me—but I can’t shake the feeling. I say nothing about it, though. Dad has enough to worry about without dealing with my crazy theories.

“Celeste suddenly got very quiet—got a far off look in her eye—and could sense there was something wrong with you girls,” Dad continues. “We got into the car as reports already started coming in about the strange attack here. She rushed to pick up Mom while I came staight here.”

Cassie suddenly detaches from my dad. The tears and look of terror have disappeared, replaced with her usual scowl of annoyance.

“Wait, so you and my mom
won’t
be away for the next few nights?” My dad shakes his head and she grunts angrily. Suddenly her ‘near-death experience’ doesn’t seem so important now that she has to cancel her big party.

“I’ll be right back,” I say when I spot another familiar car across the parking lot.

Dad’s eyes go wide at the thought of me leaving him alone with Cassie—she’s
much
worse to deal with when pouting than when she’s upset. When she’s not looking, I throw a smile and wink at my father, knowing full well that he’ll bust my chops about this later. But he still looks concerned as I jog away and I’m left feeling as annoyed as Cassie. Is it because of my father’s continued concern? Cassie’s dramatics? I can’t really put my finger on it but I feel it nonetheless.

More and more people are allowed to leave and the crowd in the parking lot starts to thin out. Being taller than most people makes me stand out—I’m used to the stares though I don’t quite appreciate them—and the soldiers’ blood on my uniform grabs even more attention. I see people whispering as I walk by, becoming quiet when I’m close. With the exception of Cassie and the old man, I didn’t think anyone else saw how viciously I fought the soldiers. But apparently I had a few more witnesses than I thought and the story was quickly getting around. I dodge other reporters and spot two women at the back of the lot. I’m about to call out to them but I see they’re deep in animated conversation. When I get closer, I realize it’s no normal conversation. This time it’s my turn to freeze in shock at the sight of them arguing.

One of the women is tall and dark and pretty enough to look like a former runway model. She wears shorts and a tank top, both of which show off the fact that she has strong lean muscle tone. It’s clear that she’s in the kind of shape an athletic young woman would be jealous of, let alone a 40-year-old mother. When she speaks, her eyes burn with intensity yet the rest of her face remains a mask of calm. She has an air of power and grace and a part of me takes a certain degree of pleasure whenever anyone mistakes her for my mother when we’re out together as a group. But Celeste is Cassie’s mother and the two of them look just as different as my mother and me.

My mother is much shorter than me—by nearly a foot—and she’s as pale as my father. She has the potential for a darker skin tone but spends little time in the sun. She’s usually very mild-mannered yet jumpy in public situations; she avoids conflict at all costs and even seems afraid of her own shadow. That’s why I’m so surprised to see her agitated now, red-faced with anger. I’m curious about what would cause her to become so upset so I sneak up and try to overhear though I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop.